


Double-Blind

by Puakaba



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Murder Mystery, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Sharing a Room, Slow Burn, eventually, that one thing where one character has to tend to the others wounds and it's SO tender, the whole crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puakaba/pseuds/Puakaba
Summary: It was raining the night that Ransom called.In the aftermath of Harlan's death, Marta finds herself being pulled back into the tangled web of Thrombey machinations, this time hand-in-hand with the man who tried to kill her only two years ago.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 31
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so, some disclaimers:  
> 1\. I love the movie. The ending was perfect and canon!Ransom got what he deserved. I adore Marta Cabrera and the realest ship is her and a happy ending.  
> 2\. Buuuuut also I wrote this entirely to indulge my completely selfish desire to imagine two hot people getting together. And I'm always weak for a good redemption arc, and I think with some shifting of canon with Marta's innate ability to see the best in people, we can turn Ransom into an asshole with a heart of gold.  
> 3\. Violence does play a role in the story, it's mostly referenced and non-graphic, but please ask to be tagged if need be!

It was raining the night Ransom called— nearly two years after his arrest.  
Marta was in the study— the same study where Ransom had once attempted to kill her. Maybe it was a little morbid, but she enjoyed reading there. She and Harlan had shared the space when he was alive, each in their own armchair, quietly enjoying the other’s company.

The house was quiet. On nights like this, Marta missed the old apartment. Yes, it had been cramped, but it was never so vacant. And with Alicia studying at Smith and her mother visiting Marta’s grandmother in Jersey, the house felt especially empty.

She stood to play some music to try and fill the emptiness that threatened to swallow up the entire house. It would be another month at least before her mother would return. Marta had promised her that she wouldn’t let herself be too lonely in her absence. She was just going to have to get used to it. Still, even as the jazzy blasts of trumpet filled the study, the sense of unease stayed heavy in Marta’s stomach.

As she sat back in her armchair, Marta shivered, tugging at her cardigan to better cover herself. That was another problem with this house— the high ceilings and abundance of windows made it a pain in the ass to heat. Not that she couldn’t afford it now, Marta just missed the easy warmth of her old home. She sighed, tucking her legs beneath her into the cushion of the armchair, and turned her attention back to her book. Page seventy-three. She had been on page seventy-three for almost forty minutes now.

The sudden ringing of the telephone kept her from page seventy-four.

In an instant, Marta was on her feet, the book abandoned on the carpet where she’d dropped it.  
Marta forced herself to calmly approach the phone, but her hand was shaking as she lifted the smooth black receiver from the cradle and held it to her ear. The few people that called Marta used her cell; nobody called the house phone except—

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.”

His voice cut into the automated message that preceded all outgoing calls from the prison, asking the receiver if they would accept the call. Ransom had only ever called once before, a few weeks after his trial. Marta had stayed on the phone long enough to hear him repeat his name before she’d slammed the receiver back down.

This time, Marta started when she heard his voice, but she stayed on. Faint Muzak filtered out through the speaker of the phone, and Marta suddenly realized that she would be talking to her attempted killer within a few seconds, but before she could steel herself to hang up again, the call connected with a soft click.

“Marta.” A moment of silence, then, “Marta is that you?’

She hesitated, then mumbled out a soft affirmation, still too stunned for words.

“Marta, I don’t have much time. I need your help. I’m getting paroled. Linda greased a few palms and got me released early. I need you to come pick me up tomorrow.”

Somehow she’d expected his voice to change— as if prison could strip away the posh Waspy accent or sniveling arrogance. But it was the same Ransom that had killed her employer and friend all those years ago. The same voice that had called her a bitch and accused her of stealing the family fortune.

She stayed silent.

“Look, I know I’m in no position to be asking you for favors, but this isn’t just me looking for a ride— I think- I think someone is going to kill me. And if you don’t pick me up, I won’t be able to stop them. And yes I get the irony of this whole situation, and I’m not exactly happy about all this but…”

He was rambling.

It was weird to hear him like this, on-edge and nervous. Maybe prison had changed something in Ransom after all. That coat of cynicism still coated every word, but Marta noted that it wasn’t so pronounced as she remembered, peeling away to reveal a raw fear beneath it. She realized suddenly that he had stopped talking.

The silence hung heavily between them. Marta knew she should say something, but there was some part of her that knew he was looking for a response, and withholding one felt like a weird kind of power that she hadn’t been aware of before.

“My time is almost up. God, Marta I wouldn’t be calling if this wasn’t real. Just...please. I need you, ok? I’m getting released at noon tomorrow. Bye.”

The line went dead, and Marta felt the room reenter the atmosphere as she could suddenly breathe again. Marta looked out the window of the study. It had stopped raining.

She went to bed with the one-sided conversation still echoing in her mind.

. . .

Marta had made up her mind by the next morning. She knew it was a bad decision. She told herself that it was a bad decision while she was getting dressed, and while she was eating breakfast, and while she was getting in the car to set out for the prison. But she had made up her mind.

Marta called Blanc on her way there. They spoke on the phone relatively often, sometimes to discuss a case, and other times just to talk. When Blanc picked up, she asked him if he’d heard about Ransom’s early release.

“Why I can’t say I did,” Blanc replied. “I was under the impression that he would be incarcerated for at least another fifteen or so years before being submitted for parole consideration.”

“He said that Linda had paid someone off, gotten him released early, ” Marta explained.

“Interesting…”

“I thought it was strange too. It almost sounds like something a caring mother would do for her son. Not exactly on-brand for the Thrombeys.”

Blanc snorted, “No, a caring mother wouldn’t raise a son that could kill two people in cold blood. And if she did, she’d make him serve out his sentence. Let him learn his lesson. Or at least come pick him up after she’d gotten him out.”

“Maybe she was ashamed of having a son in jail; wanted him out but didn’t want to be seen at the prison,” Marta mused.

“Maybe...”

Marta pictured Blanc’s thinking face, twisted into a contemplative frown. She could hear from his tone that there was more he could’ve said about the issue, but instead, he switched subjects.

“I’m afraid I must ask: Are you calling to ask me if I approve of you agreeing to help Mr. Drysdale, or simply to inform me that you’ve already made your decision?”

Marta sighed, “I’m not sure. I already know that you don’t approve, I just needed to hear from someone before I did this, and-”

“And your mother and sister would’ve tried to talk you out of it,” Blanc finished for her.

“Yes, something like that.”

“Well I can’t help but agree with their sentiment, but I appreciate you letting me know. Keep me updated, Watson.”

“Of course, detective.”

They always ended the call along these lines, and for a moment, Marta felt good to have called Blanc.

“And Marta,” Blanc paused, “stay safe.”

He hung up, and Marta immediately felt worse. Was she being selfish, in helping Ransom? Not only was she putting herself in danger, she was giving her family and friend another reason to worry for her, after they’d just begun to heal from the stress of two years prior. Still, Ransom had told her that his life was at risk, and she just couldn’t bring herself to look away when someone needed help, even if that someone had once tried to kill her.

. . .

He looked...worse.

Paired with his innate good looks and accentuated by high-end clothes and other luxuries, Ransom had always carried himself with an air of confidence that faded into arrogance.

All of that seemed to have bled out of Ransom. For all the haughtiness that Marta had heard over the phone, she saw now that it had been a weak attempt at maintaining the image of him that she’d once known. He walked down the pathway with the same familiar strut, but he refused to make eye contact with her or the guards as he passed them. His clothes also looked big on him. It was clear that he’d become leaner, the shoulder line of his camel hair coat, which Marta knew to be his favorite, seemed to slump off his shoulders awkwardly, and his sweater seemed loose around his waist.

And then there was the issue of his face. If it wasn’t for his clothes, Marta wasn’t sure if she would’ve even been able to recognize him. Black and blue marred his face, bruises swelling over every edge. His lip had recently been split and a fresh shiner threatened to swallow up his left eye.

When he got closer, Marta gasped as she realized the extent of his injury.

“Ransom, what-”

“Not here, Marta. Can we just go?” Ransom pulled at the handle. It was locked.

Marta pressed her lips together. She still had time to cut and run— hit the gas and leave him stranded on the curb. But she’d already driven all this way.

She unlocked the door, and he slid into the seat.

They pulled away, and out of the corner of her eye, Marta saw him lean towards the window and watch as the prison got further. Once it had finally faded into the distance, Ransom twisted back around in his seat and exhaled slowly.

There was a long stretch of silence and Marta remembered suddenly that, before the murder, she’d never really been alone with Ransom. In fact, he’d hardly ever spoken to her before then. Harlan used to insist that the two of them would have gotten along well, should Ransom ever pull his head out of his ass, but then Ransom had chosen to kill him instead. So that was that.

Once Marta pulled onto the highway, though, Ransom realized that they were not headed for the house, and he spoke up abruptly.

“Wait where are we going? Why aren’t we going home?”

“I gave your mom the title to your house,” Marta explained. “I think she sold it.”

Ransom shook his head. “No, why aren’t we going to Harlan’s house?”

“You mean my house,” Marta corrected him with a hint of irritation.

“Sure.”

“You said that somebody wanted to kill you, and I think that house has seen enough murder, recently.” Marta shot him a pointed look, and noted with satisfaction that he at least had the good sense to appear disconcerted at that comment.

“Right...That makes sense.”

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

. . .

Marta took a long sip from her coffee. Black and heavy with sugar. Exactly as she liked it.  
When she lowered the mug, she found Ransom on the other side of the booth, watching her intently from behind his menu. She took another sip.

“Explain to me again why we’re here and not back home?” he demanded, snapping his menu shut.

Mentally, Marta marveled at how quickly Ransom could revert back into the arrogant trust fund baby, whining and complaining about something that she’d just explained to him. If Marta was a different person, perhaps she would’ve read that as a sign that his begging had been disingenuous, but Marta knew fear. Thanks to Ransom, she now knew that life-or-death panic, and she had heard it in his voice last night.

“We’re here because I’m not interested in leading a killer to my house, Ransom.”

Marta stated it matter-of-factly, looking Ransom squarely in the face as she did. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly understanding the implication of her words, but he met her gaze with his own hard look.

They were seated in the same restaurant that Ransom had taken her to two years ago when he’d urged her to confess. Marta didn’t know what had caused her to bring him here— perhaps she was conditioned to associate it with murder and conspiracy— but she just felt like it was the appropriate place to discuss Ransom’s dilemma.

Furthermore, Marta realized with a jolt of pleasure that she and Ransom had exchanged seats. It wasn’t the same booth, that would’ve been just too much of a coincidence, but they had traded places all the same. Now, it was Marta in the seat of power, urging Ransom to tell her everything.

Ransom brought the mug to his lips then set it down again. His hands trembled a bit as he did.

“There’s a guard who was recently assigned to my block. At first, I thought he was just a mean sonofabitch, but I realized that there was something...something not right about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...since the first day he showed up, he began targeting me. He gave me half of these,” Ransom motioned vaguely to the injuries on his face, “he broke a couple of my ribs about a month ago too.”

Marta took another sip of her coffee, frowning slightly at Ransom over the rim. She didn’t want to be the one to say it, but Marta had always figured that many prison guards were liable for some level of brutality within their jurisdictions.

Sensing her hesitation, Ransom continued, “But it’s not like with the other guards. The other guards, they might rough you up a little, knock you around when they feel like it, but that’s the issue: it’s always random, just to mess with you whenever they’re in the mood to be a dick. This guy isn’t random, he’s deliberate— he follows me, he tries to isolate me, he manipulated my work schedule so he could catch me alone.”

The table shook slightly, and Marta realized it was from Ransom’s leg trembling against its base. Marta frowned.

“So he was the one who did...this?” she gestured to the wounds marking Ransom’s face.

“Yeah. I mean some of the older ones were on me but...God, Marta you have no idea what it feels like to be- to be hunted like this.”

Marta felt a hot point of anger press into her temple. “Oh really? I don’t?” she snapped, “Why don’t you tell me about how it feels to have someone try to kill you, Ransom.”

He stopped short, pressing his lips together, as if to seal them shut.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Marta’s eyebrows flew into her hairline. Her anger was abruptly knocked out by her own surprise. She’d never heard him apologize before.

Her tone was softer when she spoke again. “Ransom, not that I mind you telling me this but... I just don’t see how I could be of any help. Why are you coming to me?.”

Marta watched as Ransom’s face twisted in genuine confusion.

“Who else could I go to?”

It was Marta’s turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat, and she wondered if their places had truly flipped after all. He was looking at her with a sincerity that was so alien, it caused a sudden heat to rush up Marta’s cheeks, prickling the soft skin of her neck and face. Seeking an escape from the pressure of his gaze, Marta averted her eyes out the window instead, but the momentary relief it brought was abruptly cut short.

There was a man outside the window.

His face was obscured by a hood, but it was clear that he was looking directly at them.

In a flash, Marta dove forward, shoving Ransom under the table just as the man lifted his arm and pointed a gun where Ransom’s head had been a split second before. The quiet restaurant erupted into screams, and the window shattered at the same time that Ransom hit the floor. Marta rolled off the table and joined him on the ground, relieved to see that he was alive.

He tried to say something, but his voice was lost in the shrieks of their surroundings. Instead, he mimed a steering wheel, then pointed at the door to the kitchen. Marta nodded. Ransom counted down on his fingers: 3...2…1...

At once, they burst out from under the table. Marta snatched her purse from the table, and they sprinted to the kitchen. In the chaos of the restaurant, they were able to slip easily past the kitchen staff, who were caught in as much panic as the customers outside, and out the back door. It let them out behind the dumpster, which gave them enough cover to sneak over to her car and tear out of the parking lot.

Once they were safely on the road, Ransom turned on her.

“Are you fucking crazy? What were you doing diving across the table like that, you could’ve gotten fucking shot!” he snapped.

“I saved your life, asshole. The least you could do is thank me,” Marta retaliated. Internally, she scoffed. Of course he wouldn’t even be grateful for her literally saving his life.

Their bickering was abruptly cut short when Ransom barked out a sharp, “Fuck!”

“What is it?!” Marta yelped.

Ransom motioned to the rearview mirror. She glanced up at it and saw in its reflection a sleek black car that was swiftly gaining on them.

“Fuck!” she echoed, stamping her foot onto the gas. The car lurched forward, picking up speed, but not nearly enough.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re getting into a second car chase in a fucking Hyundai,” Ransom moaned. “Why do you even still have this car? You’re worth millions.”

“I like this car,” Marta shot back. “It’s safe.”

At that moment, a gunshot rang out from behind them, and the side-view mirror was blown clean off.

“Yeah, real safe.”

“I don’t have time to deal with you, Ransom. Just shut up and let me handle this,” she ordered. To her surprise, he actually listened and stuffed himself back into his seat.

Recalling how she’d handled the last car chase, Marta kept her foot jammed against the gas pedal and waited for them to gain on her. Then, at the last second before their bumper collided with hers, she yanked on the steering wheel, hauling the car over to the right lane before slamming on the brakes. The black car ripped past them, barreling down the same highway with its original inertia. Marta hit the gas again and her Hyundai safely took off down the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Online classes have picked back up and I quickly got busy again, but dammit I'm dedicated to this story. Here's more Ransom being a delicate asshole, hope you enjoy!

The girl at the front desk cracked her gum loudly when she spoke. Her name tag read ‘Chelsea’. 

“Yeah there must be a conference in town or something, all of the rooms are booked up.”

Marta kneaded her middle and index fingers into her temple. 

“You’re saying you only have one room available?” 

Marta didn’t like being difficult, especially when this kid was probably getting paid the absolute minimum wage to man the front desk of a crappy motel at 11 PM, but she also wasn’t eager to spend the night sharing a room with Ransom. 

Chelsea gave her a weird look, pausing her chewing for a moment.

Then she said, “Well, actually we’ve got two available. Rooms 7 and 21.” Chelsea paused, glancing around before leaning in conspiratorially and continuing in a hushed tone, “but between you and me, I wouldn’t stay in room 21, someone got killed there about three weeks ago.”

“Killed?”

“Yeah, stabbed. After the police took the body away, they just changed out the carpeting and sprayed some Febreeze.” Chelsea cracked her gum again. 

Marta glanced back at her car, still parked out front. Ransom was on the passenger’s side, his seat half reclined. When she looked back, he caught her gaze and waved cheekily. Marta quickly turned back. She didn’t want to room with Ransom, but Marta had just driven for ten hours without stopping— at this point she just wanted to collapse in bed and pass out.

“Is room 7 a double?”

. . .

“Only one room, Cabrera? You could at least buy a guy dinner first,” Ransom remarked as she unlocked the door.

“I _did_ buy you dinner, Ransom.” Marta sighed, taking in the room. It was exactly as satisfactory as she’d expected for $35 a night. She set her things down on the bed closest to the door. An easy escape. 

“Well we got interrupted, so I think you owe me another meal. Besides, that was lunch.” Ransom shrugged off his coat and sweater leaving him only in a thin t-shirt. Marta felt her face suddenly warm, and she quickly looked away. Ransom tossed his coat over the chair in the corner and took the vacant bed, sitting back and kicking his feet up easily.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said.

“Do what.”

“Lay on the comforter like that, it’s filthy.” Marta peeled back her own comforter before collapsing on the bed.

Ransom let out a sharp laugh. “Oh I see, you inherit a few million and suddenly you’re too good for shitholes like this? You know it’s important to stay humble, Marta. Money isn’t everything.”   
He grinned at her, then began to turn onto his stomach. 

When he was fully face-planted in the bedding, Marta casually replied, “No, it’s because I used to work in a place like this, so I know they only wash that comforter four times a year.” 

Marta burst out laughing as Ransom surged forward, trying to tear the comforter away, but her glee quickly died when he fell out of bed, shouting out in pain as he hit the floor. 

She sprung out of her own bed and tried to help him up. “God, Ransom! Are you ok?”

He waved away her hand before letting out a low groan and slowly heaving himself back up off the floor. 

“Well I’ve been better.”

“Lay back on the bed, I need to take a better look at your injuries.” 

Marta grabbed the medical bag that she had brought in from the car. When she turned to face him, she was pleasantly surprised to find him lying patiently, as she’d told him to do. 

“I need to examine your chest first, take off your shirt,” she brusquely instructed him.

Ransom easily obeyed, peeling off his shirt and tossing it to the floor with a playful smile that Marta consciously ignored. She kneeled at the side of the bed to get a better look. Marta supposed that the context of their situation— the late-night rendezvous in the seedy motel room— should’ve made the whole thing uncomfortable, but as soon as Marta caught sight of the extensive bruising that had blossomed over Ransom’s abdomen, the awkwardness was abandoned and her professionalism took over. 

“Does it hurt when I press here?” Marta applied gentle pressure to the left side of his ribcage, where most of the bruising was centered. Immediately, Ransom choked out a loud curse, and Marta relaxed her hand. That answered that question. 

“I need you to breathe in for me, one deep inhalation through the nose,” Marta instructed. Warily, Ransom began to take a deep breath, but he let out another yelp of pain before releasing it.

“Try again,” she said patiently. 

“Marta, I can’t. It hurts like a bitch when I do.” 

Marta grit her teeth and glared up at him. “Ransom, I am not going to baby you. I need to see if your ribs have healed properly, and you whining at me won’t fix anything. Now take a deep breath.”

There was a beat of silence where he stayed still, eyeing her warily, but after another moment he took another deep breath. Marta watched the rise and fall of his chest. She ordered him to do it again, but this time, she leaned over and pressed her ear against his upper abdomen. 

“Now sit up.”

She pressed her ear against his back and told him to take another deep breath. 

“And lay back down.” He sank back into the pillows easily. 

This final time, as Marta put her ear back to his chest, she felt his body rumble as he spoke, and she suddenly became aware of how hot her skin was against his.

“What are you checking for?”

“I need to see if any of your organs were damaged by the broken ribs, especially your lungs. It’s really hard to do without a stethoscope, but it’s better than nothing.” 

“Oh. So then I guess me talking while you’re trying to listen isn’t extremely helpful then,” Ransom said. 

Marta let out a soft laugh. 

“No it’s not very helpful at all,” she scolded him, but with none of the malice from earlier. 

When she pulled away, Ransom sat up, wincing slightly as he did. 

“What’s the diagnosis, Nurse Jackie?” 

“Well it’s obvious that your ribs didn’t heal properly.” Marta grabbed an instant cold compress from the medical bag and activated it. “How long ago was it that you said he broke them?”

“About a month. Maybe less.” 

She grabbed Ransom’s shirt from where he’d dropped it on the floor and wrapped the pack before pressing it against the bruising. Ransom hissed lightly at the cold against his bare skin, but he didn't move away.

“It takes about six weeks for a rib to heal fully, and I doubt this was a one-time thing.” 

Ransom shook his head, almost sheepishly.

Marta frowned. “All this running around is definitely not helping. Tomorrow we’ll go to the hospital and get you an actual examination.” 

“No!” Ransom’s hand shot forward, grabbing Marta’s wrist. Immediately, she yanked her arm backward, almost falling back as she did, but she grabbed onto the sheets and stabilized herself. Marta stared up at Ransom, her heart racing. This was the fear that she remembered so viscerally. He looked back at her with an identical expression of terror. 

“What do you mean, no? Ransom if we don’t get your ribs looked at, they could heal improperly and you could get pneumonia or-” 

He cut her off, “Marta I can’t go to a hospital, I’m obviously still being followed. A hospital is too high key, he’d find us instantly. I just- can we just lay low for now?” 

“For now?” Marta hissed. “What does ‘for now’ mean, Ransom? You want us to skulk around creepy motels for weeks while you try and figure out who sent this guard to kill you?” 

“No, I- Marta, please. I just need time to figure things out.” 

He was leaning over the side of the bed now so that they were closer to eye level. Marta knew that twisting into that position was hell on his broken ribs, but he stayed frozen like that, gazing at her with an openly desperate expression. Marta looked up into his eyes, trying to parse out some glimmer of whatever thoughts were running through his head. She remembered the fear she’d heard in his voice over the phone and how his leg had trembled in the diner, and now she saw the plain vulnerability that had fully taken over his exhausted features.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the sheets. 

“Fine. I’ll figure something out.” From above her, Ransom let out his own sigh of relief as he slumped back into the bed. “We’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep and in the morning we’ll see where we go from here.”   
At that exact moment, Marta heard her own stomach let out a deep grumble, clearly distressed at their meal being interrupted. They both suddenly looked down at her offending abdomen.   
When she looked back up at Ransom, that teasing grin had returned to his face.

“I saw a diner a couple miles back up the road. Maybe you can buy me that dinner after all.” 

“You need to rest, Ransom.” She stood up, brushing herself off. “I’ll go out and get us some food— I really don’t think you’re in good enough shape to go out again.”

Ransom scoffed, “You’re not exactly one to talk, Cabrera. You seen yourself lately?” 

Marta stared back at him for a moment, before hurrying to the bathroom. When she flicked on the light, she was met with a gruesome sight and a soft “oh my god” fell from her lips.

Streaks of dried blood painted her cheeks, marking paths from the series of cuts that crisscrossed her face. She leaned forward, realizing that tiny shards of glass were embedded in her bloodied skin. When the bullet had shattered that window, she must have gotten caught in the shower of glass that fell from it. A strange mixture of adrenaline and exhaustion had kept her from being fully conscious of the pain until now, as she confronted it directly. Marta stumbled back into the main room, where Ransom was sitting with that smug smile still plastered on his face.

“I don’t know why you’re smiling, the girl at the front desk must think that I’m caught in an abusive relationship or something.”

Ransom let out a loud laugh. “It’s too bad she didn’t get a good look at me. Then she’d see what we _really_ are.”

She stared skeptically at him. “What _are_ we, Ransom?” 

“Obviously we’re caught in an abusive relationship with _each other_ , Marta.” His grin didn’t falter. 

Marta glowered at him. “That’s not funny.” She grabbed her medical bag off of his bed and stormed back into the bathroom.

“Oh come on, Marta you started the joke!” she heard him call after her. She slammed the door shut.

There were a pair of tweezers nestled into the side pocket of the bag. Marta slid them out, tore open an antiseptic wipe, and began to sterilize them. 

There was a knock at the door.

“Marta? C’mon open up. I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

“Go back to bed, Ransom. You shouldn’t even be up,” she directed at the closed door. There was silence on the other side.

Marta turned back and glared at herself in the mirror, leaning forward to get a better look at the bits of glass caught in the grooves of her cuts. She grit her teeth and tried to pull the first shard out, but the tweezers wouldn’t find purchase on the glass. This would be a relatively simple procedure for her had she been doing it on someone else, but trying to accurately pull a fleck of glass out of your own skin was extremely difficult, worsened only by having to navigate it backwards in her own reflection. Growing frustrated, Marta tried once more to pull the glass out. This time, the tweezers slipped, failing to grab the glass but firmly pinching her raw flesh between its metal pincers. She shrieked in pain, dropping the tweezers. 

“Marta?!” she heard Ransom calling her name on the other side of the door, his knocking now more urgent against the cheap wooden door. She sighed and opened the door. Ransom stood on the other side, panic frozen on his face.

“I’m fine, I was just trying to pull the glass out. And it wasn’t even locked.” 

“Oh.” Ransom shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Well I didn’t exactly want to barge in. I mean, imagine if you were pissing.” 

Marta rolled her eyes. “Wash your hands. I need you to pull the glass out for me.” She scooped the tweezers off the floor and grabbed another wipe.

“Uh, if you can’t do it then I don’t think I’d be much better at it, nurse,” he protested, but still stepped into the cramped bathroom and began washing his hands.

“It’s much harder to do on yourself than someone else. I’ll walk you through it.” 

She sterilized the tweezers again and handed them to Ransom. 

“Ok take the tweezers and slowly pull out the glass,” Marta instructed. He did so carefully, his hand trembling slightly once he pulled away with the bloodied shard. “Good, now gently pinch the skin near the cut.”

Ransom pressed his fingers against the soft part of her cheek, right at the edge of the cut. Marta felt a wetness bloom on her cheek with an accompanying sting. 

“Oh fuck, it’s bleeding. Marta what do I do? It’s bleeding!” 

“It’s fine, the blood will flush out the cut. There’s some gauze in my bag. Take it and press it against the cut, then cover it with a bandaid.” 

She watched him fumble for the gauze and smiled. Part of her found it funny, in a morbid kind of way. This man, who had once tried to stab her, was now freaking out over the sight over her blood from a tiny scratch. She didn’t know what that said about where their relationship stood now.

Ransom repeated the process several times. By the third cut, he didn’t need her directions anymore, and Marta could sit back and watch him work. His eyes were deeply focused on her, and he pursed his lips with concentration as he worked, extracting each shard with an attentive precision that she hadn't expected from him. 

And his hands were careful. So careful. 

When he went to pull from a cut on the lower half of her cheek, she felt his left hand come up and brush her jawline. With his thumb, he gently tilted her head back so that he could better look at her, and she felt her stomach turn again. It had been so long since someone had looked after her for a change, and Marta ached with the effort it took to not lean into his touch. 

By the time he reached the biggest cut— just above her eyebrow— Marta could feel the rush of her heartbeat pounding, practically in her throat. Marta was sure that he could hear it, especially as he leaned down to press the final square of gauze against her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and made a concerted effort to conceal the heavy rise and fall of her chest. 

When Marta felt his hands fall away from her face, she caught herself just short of leaning forward to chase after them. 

“All done,” Marta heard him say, his voice still so close to her. She blinked, and suddenly, Ransom’s eyes were right there, and they were so clear and so blue. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stayed frozen there, his gaze locked on her. 

“Marta,” he murmured quietly, “thank you.”

She looked at him, confused. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean- thank you for...all of this.” 

The heat from the flush that burned fiercely at her cheeks only magnified the stinging from her raw cuts. Marta grimaced and when she looked again, he had already stepped back. 

She cleared her throat, her racing heartbeat slowly returning to its normal pace. “Well thank you as well.” She stood and studied her face in the mirror, surveying the bandaids that he had applied. “They look good, Ransom. You did a good job.” 

When she turned to face him, a thrill ran down her spine as she saw that, beneath the black and blue bruises, his face was also stained with bright red. Even with the distance he’d made between them, this bathroom was still so crowded. If she wanted, Marta could reach up and trace the edges of that flush, discover how far down his pale skin it reached. Did he just glance at her lips? She couldn’t tell. God, how long had it been since she had even stood this close to somebody? 

“Are you still hungry?” he asked.

Marta started, then cleared her throat. “No, I-I’m not. Are you?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Right, well. I think I’ll go to bed, now.” Marta paused, realizing that they were both still dressed in their day clothes. She hadn’t packed for an overnight trip, and Ransom only had the clothes he’d been wearing when he was released. “You can change out of your clothes in here, if you want.” 

Without looking at him again, Marta slipped past him and out the bathroom door, closing it behind her. She moved her bags off her bed and onto the table, then began swiftly undressing down to just her underwear and the light camisole that she wore under her sweater. Marta hastily folded her clothes, then dove under the sheets, turning her back to the bathroom. 

When the bathroom door opened again, she spoke without looking over, “Could you turn the light off?” 

Marta heard him rustling behind her, and in an instant felt the overwhelming urge to turn around, but kept herself firmly facing the window and not the other bed. She needed to stop this train of thought before it went any further, and if she turned over to see Ransom wearing anything less than his tee-shirt and chinos to bed, then she’d have trouble accomplishing that. So she didn’t turn around when he said good night, or even when she heard his mattress sink beneath his weight and the light clicked off, shrouding them in the safety of darkness. It was only when Marta finally heard his breathing relax and turn steady that she finally felt secure in turning onto her back. 

Marta lay there, wondering where her exhaustion had gone, pointedly ignoring the heat in her stomach. She considered furtively slipping her hand under the sheets and taking care of the problem right there, but the mortifying idea of getting off with Ransom only four feet away quickly killed that thought.

So instead, Marta lay in bed, listening to Ransom breathe, and waited for sleep to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew from the very start of planning this story that I needed the classic "Omg there's only one hotel room?? and they have to Share??" trope, and as I previously stated this fic is 100% indulgent wish-fulfillment. Hope everyone is staying safe out there, comments/kudos always appreciated~ :D

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote fanfiction....quarantine really does some funny things to you I guess. Pretty nervous about getting back into the fic game so comments/kudos would be greatly appreciated! :D


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